I am sure I will have something articulate and appropriately feminist to say once I I calm down and stop gnashing my teeth. The whole situation makes me not only indignant and angry but rather sick to my stomach as well. It bothers me that men like the orange pustule assume they have a right to use and abuse women. It bothers me that you were attacked and now have people trying to drag you through the mud for telling the truth about it. It bothers me that so many of us can relate. It bothers me that 99% of the women who read this will know exactly what it feels like to be touched inappropriately and be accused of "asking for it."
But I'll tell you what doesn't bother me - your courage, tenacity, and willingness to fight to have your abuser held accountable. I know that you that are fighting not just for yourself, but for all of us as well. For that, I thank and applaud you. If I can help in any way, please let me know. HUGS!
P.S. No court cases or lawyers (except the IP kind) to share.
Years ago a dear friend was killed in an accident that was the result of a police chase. She was 30, mother of two toddlers and just starting to make her way in her career. Her family sued the police department and I was asked to testify on their behalf. The opposing lawyers did their best to undermine me, but I listened very hard to questions asks, did not hurry my answers and was brutally honest. My main area of expertise was the business we were in, and, if I do say so myself, I exposed the defence's ignorance in that regard and helped to shoot them down. My friend's family received a healthy settlement that helped her children, and I'm proud of my part in that.
What I learned sitting up on that stand is that it was someone's job to tear me down. Their reputation depended on it. So I dudn't take it personally and, shockingly, I did not lose my temper. In fact, I smiled at the defence attorney while I politely tore her a new one.
Stay the course and do not back down. If someone punched you in the face you wouldn't have to fight for justice. How pathetic that rape is any different.
Thank you, E.Jean. You are fighting for all of us. What a succinct and withering defense! If he and his team are the slightest bit human, this will shame them.
Ya know, I’m really ready for this guy to pay the piper. It’s torturous to have him flopping his fat ass around Florida. Arrest him, and make it a pay-per-view. Then use that money to fight voter suppression.
I just wanted to add my support and love. Women from around the world (I’m in Australia) are in your corner and can’t wait to see this smarmy jerk in jumpsuit orange to match his hideous face.
It was 1994 and we were finally in court, 4 years after I had gotten fired for telling my boss to stop sexually harassing me. I was a newly single mom and I needed this job. He was the owner of a small but successful publishing company and did despicable things to many of the young women employees. I was 40, older than most of his victims, and felt the need to be a voice for the traumatized silent ones. He was a powerful figure in the Minnesota publishing world. I was traumatized, but not silent. I believed in Truth. Five of us began a lawsuit but he with his powerful law firm orchestrated delay after delay. Three dropped out. He countersued me for defamation. At trial his defamation suit was thrown out but it had taken so much energy and lawyers’ time to defend. Our judge was not known to be favorable to women, but the abuser was so obvious in his actions, it had to go in our favor. Every night I would put my daughter to bed and then collapse under the fear; every day I would gather my shattered self and repeat this mantra while driving to the courthouse: “I am a victor, not a victim.” After a three week harrowing trial we won. Truth won! May it be so for you, dear brave E. Jean.
I don't remember any of the courtroom stuff. I have been told I was brave and testified and all, but I remember nothing of it. Just the fear. But I was 18 and so so young.
Yes. I don’t know any woman who started in a male dominated field in the 1970’s who didn’t have a story. Employer who was a pig. As a young lawyer I was shocked someone was so gauche and without class. Boy was I sheltered and naive. Got together a weekly breakfast support group of young women lawyers, doctors, B school professors architects, and business women. Boy did we have stories to tell and support to give. I was fortunate. I’d saved money and had gotten connected in the local bar association. I gave notice negotiated a severance package and left. I sublet my place and car. I went to France for six months. I came back a and found am administrative judgeship on the opposite coast a three step career jump. The F—-er reneged on the settlement. Sued. Woman lawyer known for being excellent plaintiffs counsel. You do not screw over your own attorney. Settled. Eight years later he went to jail for scamming money from the organization and tax fraud. Huge deal. He was scum. We have more power than we think. And I’d never wish it on anyone.
But I turned it around and jumped ahead. Not sure the huge career move would have happened otherwise. Think out of the box. Think big and then dream and go after the bigger dream! Mentor others. Support others. I left there in 1982! Yes nearly 40 years ago. As they say E Jean May the force be with you!
Trump is an ogre from inside the gaetz of hell, yet the darling of the christian right and republican women. How crazy is america to fall for him? i wish you and your team the best. tom
Dear E. Jean, Thank you!! For all of us "chin up" girls. I wish I had filed – I didn't, but I did go on to reclaim my life and write a bunch of books in which rapists and their ilk are killed (Yes, I'm a crime fiction author). But a few years ago, guess who I heard from? Not the rapist, exactly, but his roommate, who seemed to want forgiveness without admitting any culpability. Sick of the silence, I wrote about the experience – and my rage – for The Boston Globe as an op-ed, "In the #MeToo Era, We Don't Need to Make Nice" (here: https://www.bostonglobe.com/opinion/2019/11/04/metoo-era-don-need-make-nice/JiQyYNuIOdzzTLPoXymysO/story.html -- this may still be behind the Globe's paywall, so I have reprinted it on my blog: https://www.cleasimon.com/in-metoo-era-we-dont-need-to-make-nice/ ) As I see it, silence is complicity, and shame is simply useless (as well as misplaced). In the fictionalized world, I'm revisiting my rape, as well as the weird ways PTSD played out over the last 40 years – hyper sexualization, a strange faked aggressive confidence, deep shame, etc – in my upcoming psychological suspense, "Hold Me Down" (Oct. '21, Polis Books). (more info: https://www.cleasimon.com/book/hold-me-down/ ) Yeah, I get to kill someone in that, too. Guess who? Actually, if you, any of your people, or any fellow fans here with similar experiences want an ARC (that's an advance readers copy, for non-publishing people), please let me know. Too late for me to get revenge in court, so I'm getting it on the page. So glad you're dragging the orange turd into court, though! You're doing it for all of us! - Clea Simon http://www.cleasimon.com
I was 15 circa 2000, and my high school science teacher constantly made inappropriate sexual comments, I think trying to be funny or cool. He also only ever called on a handful of girls, and largely ignored the rest of the students. One of those girls hated the unrequested attention, so she and her friend, a male student (totally ignored) and myself (ignored and also grossed out by his comments) went to the principal.
The four of us sat in the office writing down every single thing we could remember. Soon, a substitute had taken over his class, the Victoria’s Secret catalog was no longer in his desk for students to pass around, and we four were asked to speak to lawyers.
Well, as sometimes happens, one by one, my friends stepped away, backed out, or decided against making any statements. When the day arrived, I was the only one of the four who’d agreed. Just me. Alone. I wanted out! My mother sat me down and asked me why I “started this in the first place.” “Because it was wrong.” “Is it still wrong?” “Yes.” “When you start things, it’s important to finish them. Do you want to finish this?” She understood my terror, and gave me the choice, but encouraged me to do the right thing, no matter how hard.
I ended up in a conference room with about five guys in suits, my principal, and that teacher, who didn’t lift his head for a moment as I recalled his behavior. It was terrifying and I’m so glad I did it.
I was 21 years old and working at a supermarket. The manager, a man old enough to be my father, took to repeatedly grabbing my ass as I walked by him. I was afraid to say anything—that job was putting me through college. A male co-worker reported the behavior to the owners. What did they do? They came to the store and sat me down in the break room. Three older Italian men on one side of the table and me on the other. Their advice? “Honey, if you don’t tell him you don’t like it, he will keep doing it.” They transferred him, but his wife and daughter shopped there regularly. They would come in and call me a bitch under their breath. I was so ashamed. I blamed myself and told no one. That was 34 years ago. It still hurts.
I was involved in a conflict with my odious younger half-siblings who tried to cheat me at every turn after our father died. It all started when they said our 80 year old father didn't even have a bank account, then I found his bank account and wrote a letter to the bank informing them I was one of his heirs. They attempted to do an end-run around me with a photocopy of a handwritten will (that failed) then they waited a year and filed for probate on the last day possible ... and neglected to serve me with notice (but I figured they'd do something like that so I'd been monitoring the probate court's docket).
So, when it came time for the hearing, I showed up dressed very conservatively, and my half-brother, the only one who lived in the jurisdiction, who was representing the other two odious thieving half-siblings, showed up wearing a puffy jacket, dirty blue jeans, and a backpack. Meanwhile I live in a rent controlled apartment and he had just built a $2mm house but he looked like a bum.
So I'm getting to the advice part. I was representing myself, and it wasn't exactly litigation, so perhaps this isn't relevant. HOWEVER. Several days before our court date, I drove down to the courthouse (50 miles away), sat in the courtroom and listened to the judge preside over cases. Then I spoke with her assistants to get a sense of what she was like. Then I read a book whose title I believe was "How to Talk to Judges."
Let's just say, on the day of our hearing I was well-prepared.
My half-brother who is very smart but not very articulate, got up and started rambling about how he didn't think I should be the personal representative of the estate, and he said he had a letter signed by the other siblings basically saying "we don't like her but we don't really have a reason." I meanwhile had submitted an objection to any of THEM being the administrator of the estate, and outlining all their attempts to cheat me (which was the first they learned how much *I* knew about how scummy they had been). He was rambling through his little speech when the judge interrupted him. He interrupted her back. She didn't like that and shut him down. She then turned to me. I waited until she asked me a question, then answered briefly. When she interrupted me in mid-sentence, I SHUT UP. When she didn't like a point I was making, I dropped it.
Let's just say it went well for me, not so much for him. Before we even opened probate, the judge had softened him up enough to listen to reason. I proposed a fair split, explaining that if we went through probate the estate would be reduced significantly with attorney and administrator fees, or we could just work it out ourselves. I eventually ended up writing up the document which they all signed.
In answer to your question -yes. And here is my advice, and I see after reading some of the supportive comments that one other person has said similar, so here is my two cents, based on my court experience. Remember, you do not have to rush to answer, so my advice is to take a comfortable, deep breath before you respond, because this will help calm you, and give you a few extra seconds to think about your response. As another commentor said—remember, the other side is trying to tear you down. The other side is trying to intimidate you. In my case, I was so fed up and disgusted, and had zero respect for the other side’s attorney that he was sure as heck NOT going to intimidate me. I appreciated that the Judge had already admonished him (attorney) for not letting me respond. So, deep breath, and then respond. And what gave me strength ? In my way to the courthouse in lower Manhattan, I listened to Katy Perry’s “ROAR” and “FIREWORK”, because the power of music helps me. On a lunch break, my attorney and I went for coffee, she asked how I was holding up, and I told her that I listened to these songs on the way to court. And she said: “ I listened to “ROAR”, too!!! So, music can empower you if you want it to. Feel the music! For wardrobe, I recommend solid colors only, and keep it simple. You don’t want to distract anyone anywhere. I wore nice slacks and blazer, sometimes black pant suit, white blouse/shirt/tank under blazer. I wore my favorite, simple, subtle, not screaming, not attention getting, Tiffany earrings, to give me strength. They were Subtle, small, but mentally helpful for me. And last but not least, in answer to your question, I won. The music was like an athletic coach giving a great, inspiring pep talk. The deep breaths, well, we all need to breathe. It buys you time. For at least a week or two, or more, after my win in court, I would wake up in the wee hours of the morning and cry, because the EXTREME stress of it all was just kind of still draining out of me, still leaving me, because if I had lost it would have been awful and scary. So, I recommend music for inspiration and strength and deep breaths, and only solid color wardrobe. You want the jury to focus on the facts, not on your wardrobe. Big hugs to you, E. Jean . You got this. ❤️
Of the myriad legal jeopardies Trump faces yours is the one I want to be his ultimate undoing
When you win, I will roar on my porch.
I am sure I will have something articulate and appropriately feminist to say once I I calm down and stop gnashing my teeth. The whole situation makes me not only indignant and angry but rather sick to my stomach as well. It bothers me that men like the orange pustule assume they have a right to use and abuse women. It bothers me that you were attacked and now have people trying to drag you through the mud for telling the truth about it. It bothers me that so many of us can relate. It bothers me that 99% of the women who read this will know exactly what it feels like to be touched inappropriately and be accused of "asking for it."
But I'll tell you what doesn't bother me - your courage, tenacity, and willingness to fight to have your abuser held accountable. I know that you that are fighting not just for yourself, but for all of us as well. For that, I thank and applaud you. If I can help in any way, please let me know. HUGS!
P.S. No court cases or lawyers (except the IP kind) to share.
Years ago a dear friend was killed in an accident that was the result of a police chase. She was 30, mother of two toddlers and just starting to make her way in her career. Her family sued the police department and I was asked to testify on their behalf. The opposing lawyers did their best to undermine me, but I listened very hard to questions asks, did not hurry my answers and was brutally honest. My main area of expertise was the business we were in, and, if I do say so myself, I exposed the defence's ignorance in that regard and helped to shoot them down. My friend's family received a healthy settlement that helped her children, and I'm proud of my part in that.
What I learned sitting up on that stand is that it was someone's job to tear me down. Their reputation depended on it. So I dudn't take it personally and, shockingly, I did not lose my temper. In fact, I smiled at the defence attorney while I politely tore her a new one.
Stay the course and do not back down. If someone punched you in the face you wouldn't have to fight for justice. How pathetic that rape is any different.
Thank you, E.Jean. You are fighting for all of us. What a succinct and withering defense! If he and his team are the slightest bit human, this will shame them.
Ya know, I’m really ready for this guy to pay the piper. It’s torturous to have him flopping his fat ass around Florida. Arrest him, and make it a pay-per-view. Then use that money to fight voter suppression.
I just wanted to add my support and love. Women from around the world (I’m in Australia) are in your corner and can’t wait to see this smarmy jerk in jumpsuit orange to match his hideous face.
It was 1994 and we were finally in court, 4 years after I had gotten fired for telling my boss to stop sexually harassing me. I was a newly single mom and I needed this job. He was the owner of a small but successful publishing company and did despicable things to many of the young women employees. I was 40, older than most of his victims, and felt the need to be a voice for the traumatized silent ones. He was a powerful figure in the Minnesota publishing world. I was traumatized, but not silent. I believed in Truth. Five of us began a lawsuit but he with his powerful law firm orchestrated delay after delay. Three dropped out. He countersued me for defamation. At trial his defamation suit was thrown out but it had taken so much energy and lawyers’ time to defend. Our judge was not known to be favorable to women, but the abuser was so obvious in his actions, it had to go in our favor. Every night I would put my daughter to bed and then collapse under the fear; every day I would gather my shattered self and repeat this mantra while driving to the courthouse: “I am a victor, not a victim.” After a three week harrowing trial we won. Truth won! May it be so for you, dear brave E. Jean.
I don't remember any of the courtroom stuff. I have been told I was brave and testified and all, but I remember nothing of it. Just the fear. But I was 18 and so so young.
Yes. I don’t know any woman who started in a male dominated field in the 1970’s who didn’t have a story. Employer who was a pig. As a young lawyer I was shocked someone was so gauche and without class. Boy was I sheltered and naive. Got together a weekly breakfast support group of young women lawyers, doctors, B school professors architects, and business women. Boy did we have stories to tell and support to give. I was fortunate. I’d saved money and had gotten connected in the local bar association. I gave notice negotiated a severance package and left. I sublet my place and car. I went to France for six months. I came back a and found am administrative judgeship on the opposite coast a three step career jump. The F—-er reneged on the settlement. Sued. Woman lawyer known for being excellent plaintiffs counsel. You do not screw over your own attorney. Settled. Eight years later he went to jail for scamming money from the organization and tax fraud. Huge deal. He was scum. We have more power than we think. And I’d never wish it on anyone.
But I turned it around and jumped ahead. Not sure the huge career move would have happened otherwise. Think out of the box. Think big and then dream and go after the bigger dream! Mentor others. Support others. I left there in 1982! Yes nearly 40 years ago. As they say E Jean May the force be with you!
Trump is an ogre from inside the gaetz of hell, yet the darling of the christian right and republican women. How crazy is america to fall for him? i wish you and your team the best. tom
Dear E. Jean, Thank you!! For all of us "chin up" girls. I wish I had filed – I didn't, but I did go on to reclaim my life and write a bunch of books in which rapists and their ilk are killed (Yes, I'm a crime fiction author). But a few years ago, guess who I heard from? Not the rapist, exactly, but his roommate, who seemed to want forgiveness without admitting any culpability. Sick of the silence, I wrote about the experience – and my rage – for The Boston Globe as an op-ed, "In the #MeToo Era, We Don't Need to Make Nice" (here: https://www.bostonglobe.com/opinion/2019/11/04/metoo-era-don-need-make-nice/JiQyYNuIOdzzTLPoXymysO/story.html -- this may still be behind the Globe's paywall, so I have reprinted it on my blog: https://www.cleasimon.com/in-metoo-era-we-dont-need-to-make-nice/ ) As I see it, silence is complicity, and shame is simply useless (as well as misplaced). In the fictionalized world, I'm revisiting my rape, as well as the weird ways PTSD played out over the last 40 years – hyper sexualization, a strange faked aggressive confidence, deep shame, etc – in my upcoming psychological suspense, "Hold Me Down" (Oct. '21, Polis Books). (more info: https://www.cleasimon.com/book/hold-me-down/ ) Yeah, I get to kill someone in that, too. Guess who? Actually, if you, any of your people, or any fellow fans here with similar experiences want an ARC (that's an advance readers copy, for non-publishing people), please let me know. Too late for me to get revenge in court, so I'm getting it on the page. So glad you're dragging the orange turd into court, though! You're doing it for all of us! - Clea Simon http://www.cleasimon.com
I was 15 circa 2000, and my high school science teacher constantly made inappropriate sexual comments, I think trying to be funny or cool. He also only ever called on a handful of girls, and largely ignored the rest of the students. One of those girls hated the unrequested attention, so she and her friend, a male student (totally ignored) and myself (ignored and also grossed out by his comments) went to the principal.
The four of us sat in the office writing down every single thing we could remember. Soon, a substitute had taken over his class, the Victoria’s Secret catalog was no longer in his desk for students to pass around, and we four were asked to speak to lawyers.
Well, as sometimes happens, one by one, my friends stepped away, backed out, or decided against making any statements. When the day arrived, I was the only one of the four who’d agreed. Just me. Alone. I wanted out! My mother sat me down and asked me why I “started this in the first place.” “Because it was wrong.” “Is it still wrong?” “Yes.” “When you start things, it’s important to finish them. Do you want to finish this?” She understood my terror, and gave me the choice, but encouraged me to do the right thing, no matter how hard.
I ended up in a conference room with about five guys in suits, my principal, and that teacher, who didn’t lift his head for a moment as I recalled his behavior. It was terrifying and I’m so glad I did it.
I was 21 years old and working at a supermarket. The manager, a man old enough to be my father, took to repeatedly grabbing my ass as I walked by him. I was afraid to say anything—that job was putting me through college. A male co-worker reported the behavior to the owners. What did they do? They came to the store and sat me down in the break room. Three older Italian men on one side of the table and me on the other. Their advice? “Honey, if you don’t tell him you don’t like it, he will keep doing it.” They transferred him, but his wife and daughter shopped there regularly. They would come in and call me a bitch under their breath. I was so ashamed. I blamed myself and told no one. That was 34 years ago. It still hurts.
I was involved in a conflict with my odious younger half-siblings who tried to cheat me at every turn after our father died. It all started when they said our 80 year old father didn't even have a bank account, then I found his bank account and wrote a letter to the bank informing them I was one of his heirs. They attempted to do an end-run around me with a photocopy of a handwritten will (that failed) then they waited a year and filed for probate on the last day possible ... and neglected to serve me with notice (but I figured they'd do something like that so I'd been monitoring the probate court's docket).
So, when it came time for the hearing, I showed up dressed very conservatively, and my half-brother, the only one who lived in the jurisdiction, who was representing the other two odious thieving half-siblings, showed up wearing a puffy jacket, dirty blue jeans, and a backpack. Meanwhile I live in a rent controlled apartment and he had just built a $2mm house but he looked like a bum.
So I'm getting to the advice part. I was representing myself, and it wasn't exactly litigation, so perhaps this isn't relevant. HOWEVER. Several days before our court date, I drove down to the courthouse (50 miles away), sat in the courtroom and listened to the judge preside over cases. Then I spoke with her assistants to get a sense of what she was like. Then I read a book whose title I believe was "How to Talk to Judges."
Let's just say, on the day of our hearing I was well-prepared.
My half-brother who is very smart but not very articulate, got up and started rambling about how he didn't think I should be the personal representative of the estate, and he said he had a letter signed by the other siblings basically saying "we don't like her but we don't really have a reason." I meanwhile had submitted an objection to any of THEM being the administrator of the estate, and outlining all their attempts to cheat me (which was the first they learned how much *I* knew about how scummy they had been). He was rambling through his little speech when the judge interrupted him. He interrupted her back. She didn't like that and shut him down. She then turned to me. I waited until she asked me a question, then answered briefly. When she interrupted me in mid-sentence, I SHUT UP. When she didn't like a point I was making, I dropped it.
Let's just say it went well for me, not so much for him. Before we even opened probate, the judge had softened him up enough to listen to reason. I proposed a fair split, explaining that if we went through probate the estate would be reduced significantly with attorney and administrator fees, or we could just work it out ourselves. I eventually ended up writing up the document which they all signed.
I never spoke to them again.
In answer to your question -yes. And here is my advice, and I see after reading some of the supportive comments that one other person has said similar, so here is my two cents, based on my court experience. Remember, you do not have to rush to answer, so my advice is to take a comfortable, deep breath before you respond, because this will help calm you, and give you a few extra seconds to think about your response. As another commentor said—remember, the other side is trying to tear you down. The other side is trying to intimidate you. In my case, I was so fed up and disgusted, and had zero respect for the other side’s attorney that he was sure as heck NOT going to intimidate me. I appreciated that the Judge had already admonished him (attorney) for not letting me respond. So, deep breath, and then respond. And what gave me strength ? In my way to the courthouse in lower Manhattan, I listened to Katy Perry’s “ROAR” and “FIREWORK”, because the power of music helps me. On a lunch break, my attorney and I went for coffee, she asked how I was holding up, and I told her that I listened to these songs on the way to court. And she said: “ I listened to “ROAR”, too!!! So, music can empower you if you want it to. Feel the music! For wardrobe, I recommend solid colors only, and keep it simple. You don’t want to distract anyone anywhere. I wore nice slacks and blazer, sometimes black pant suit, white blouse/shirt/tank under blazer. I wore my favorite, simple, subtle, not screaming, not attention getting, Tiffany earrings, to give me strength. They were Subtle, small, but mentally helpful for me. And last but not least, in answer to your question, I won. The music was like an athletic coach giving a great, inspiring pep talk. The deep breaths, well, we all need to breathe. It buys you time. For at least a week or two, or more, after my win in court, I would wake up in the wee hours of the morning and cry, because the EXTREME stress of it all was just kind of still draining out of me, still leaving me, because if I had lost it would have been awful and scary. So, I recommend music for inspiration and strength and deep breaths, and only solid color wardrobe. You want the jury to focus on the facts, not on your wardrobe. Big hugs to you, E. Jean . You got this. ❤️